


Lonely in a Crowded Room

by yuzuki_chan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (of a sort), Adultery, F/M, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Married Draco Malfoy, Married Hermione Granger, Not married to each other, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:36:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9557408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuzuki_chan/pseuds/yuzuki_chan
Summary: They were two lonely people. Their desire to forge a real human connection again outweighed their dislike for one another, but their friendship left them unfulfilled.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for drcjsnider as part of the final DMHG Fic Exchange.

*      *      *

The International Confederation of Wizards' Global Exchange Gala was boring. The week-long summit had been boring, thea multilingual panels had been boring, even the often-violent trade agreement talks were boring this year. Draco Malfoy was an efficient businessman, and he prided himself in that well-known fact, but he almost wished the deal with Liechtenstein hadn't closed at last night's dinner. At least then he'd have something to entertain him at the ball. Making an appearance was just a show of good faith and formality, neither of which he cared for when he was so damn bored.

“Another Ogden's on the rocks. With a lime.” 

The open bar wasn't so bad, though. 

Draco began unclasping his shirt cuffs as his new drink arrived. Dress robes looked good, but they were ridiculously overly stifling. He moved to place the platinum and emerald cufflinks on the bar beside his glass, but a small beaded bag stole their place and a brunette in turquoise dress robes dropped herself into the empty stool beside him.

“Ogden's and tonic, please,” the woman said after which she dropped a Sickle in the bartender's tip jar. Draco rolled his eyes. If he hadn't recognized the voice before, he did now as she thanked the House Elf for her drink.

“I never picked you for a firewhiskey girl, Granger,” he said without looking up, putting his cufflinks in his pocket.

Draco chose to avoid mocking her pointless kindness toward the bartender and went for civil, neutral ground instead. He was so bored, he'd have struck up a conversation with a Hufflepuff. And at least Hermione Granger was more intelligent.

He watched as she turned around to look at him. She'd certainly aged well, still slim and with what he assumed was still bushy hair under the carefully done-up bun. It almost made him self-conscious of his own receding hairline.

“Liquid courage, Malfoy. You of all people should understand that.” She smiled and downed half of her drink.

Draco found himself chuckling. “Liquid courage for the coward, then,” he said, extending his glass.

“Oh. That's not what I meant, I'm—”

“Don't apologize, Granger, just cheers.”

Hermione gave a small, genuine smile before clinking their glasses together. He could tell she was surprised he was paying her any heed, let alone engaging her in conversation. But he couldn't help himself. The swotty aura worked better on her now as a Ministry official than it ever did when she was a teenager. He knew she was considered a beacon of knowledge at the Ministry, respected and sought-after, and Draco couldn't pass up a decent conversation at this level of boredom, even if the whole situation was utterly ridiculous. There is a time when a man needs somebody to talk to.

They sat in a companionable silence for moment, nursing their drinks before a large party of hags squeezed into every available space at the bar. Draco watched as Hermione quickly finished her drink, and squeezed out of the way. He was about to let her go and drown himself in misery, but he caught her raised eyebrow questioning whether he was going to follow. Draco didn't need to be asked twice. He drank down the rest of his firewhiskey and pushed pass the hag trying to take his seat.

He caught up to Hermione with quick strides, falling into step with her towards the corner of the ballroom. It took him a moment to realise he was still standing, uncursed, and that she was actually alone at the gala.

“Where's your oaf of a Weasley, anyway? Shouldn't he be here making a fool of himself or something?”

"Last I heard, Ron's traipsing around in the Middle East. He's been out on missions nearly non-stop ever since Hugo started school," Hermione said with an air of disdain.

"Last you heard? You're practically in charge of the department, Potter doesn't keep you updated?"

"There's a lot Harry can't tell me. Not just for propriety's sake. I'd have to arrest him and his whole team for violating international treaties if I knew more than the basics. And that would hardly help with all this," she said, waving a hand at the mass of international dignitaries that were mingling in the Ministry ballroom.

Draco scoffed and pulled two flutes off a floating tray. He handed one to Hermione, surprised at ease of their interaction. Twenty-five years ago he would have Crucio'd anyone who'd have suggested he and Hermione Granger (because she would never, in his mind, be a Weasley) might one day be able to share a moderately comfortable conversation; but a war and over two decades of attempted redemption had changed his views on a lot of things. As adults, people were far more manageable. 

"Where is Potter, then? Shouldn't he be here, public relations and all that?"

Hermione snorted loudly and took a long swig from her champagne.

"Harry hates these things. He's not really a very sociable person. People never notice how awkward he is because they're always fawning over him, but he really isn't any good at the whole schmoozing thing.”

Draco couldn't help but smile at that. So he wasn't the only one that thought the whole wizarding world needlessly kissed Potter's ass, not that Hermione had said exactly that, but he felt free to elaborate in his mind.

"And so they sent you?"

"Naturally. I mean, I am the best looking of the, what did _The Prophet_ call us? The Golden Trio? Not to mention the smartest. Oh, and did I mention that I can speak French and Bulgarian? I'm even passable in Hindi. And I _am_ the most versed in Ministry protocol and ICW procedures.”

"Bitter, Granger?"

"No, not at all," she said, a saccharine smile on her lips before they dissolved into a smirk as she took another sip of champagne. "I suppose I'd just rather be doing paperwork."

Draco chuckled. "Or studying in a library."

"That," she paused to look sideways at him, "is how one conducts research."

"Of course. Not that old habits die hard."

"I have no clue what you're talking about, Malfoy. I'm hardly ever in the Hogwarts library anymore."

"No, I suppose not. But I have a feeling the Ministry records hall hasn't had a day to itself in months."

"Like I said: research."

"Mmm-hmm." 

Draco took another drink. It was weird, the situation was definitely weird, probably due to the fact that it felt so normal. He was standing in a crowded ballroom, at some Ministry gala, making small talk with a girl he once loathed—no, that wasn't right. He was bantering with a woman he shouldn't like, and perhaps, actually, maybe enjoying it. 

“Where's your wife?”

And then the moment passed. Draco stiffened as the comfort in the situation dissipated.

“She avoids me.” 

Draco waited for her sarcastic quip, the low, predictable jab at his character and his Dark past, but none came. For all the times he thought Hermione Granger talked too damn much and needed to shut her mouth, the silence that overtook their conversation wasn't nearly as welcomed as he once would have thought.

He glanced over at Hermione as he took another sip of his champagne, but didn't see the arrogant expression he expected. She was staring down at the glass in her hands, her brows furrowed slightly in sadness. Confused, Draco sought for a way to get their interaction back on track, filing away Hermione's look for later consideration.

“What did you need the courage for anyway?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw her shake her head briefly and the bull-headed Granger he knew quickly returned. 

“That short, rotund man over there, in the red and blue sash?” she said, gesturing with her now empty flute. “That's the Liechtenstein representative on the Confederation. He introduced several new laws last year that I'd like to replicate in our own legislation.”

“That short, rotund man over there, is my new trading partner. Would you like me to introdu—” 

Draco didn't get a chance to finish. Hermione had already taken his glass from his hand and slammed it down on the table next to hers. With a grip on his arm stronger than he might have expected from such a small woman, she all but dragged Draco along with her away from their spot in the corner.

As they drew closer to her target, Draco felt Hermione's hand around his bicep relax as it snaked its way into the crook of his arm, her breath on his neck as she leaned over to whisper in his ear. 

“What is it exactly you do, again, Malfoy?”

Draco smirked and bowed is head towards her, his lips nearly grazing her ear. 

“Don't you wish you knew.”

*      *      *

There was something about the solidarity of the legal library that Hermione truly enjoyed. She often thought it was the quiet atmosphere and the way the aged parchment smelt that brought her back to her younger years at Hogwarts; to times before war and death wrecked childhoods and obliterated lives. Even at 40, being surrounded by piles of books calmed her.

_Wouldn't Malfoy laugh at me now._

Hermione stopped reading on the spot, astounded that thought just crossed her mind.

She searched for the thank you note she'd written to Draco earlier that morning. Hermione really did owe him for the introduction, but she couldn't bring herself to send it yet. Something about being grateful to a Malfoy made her skin crawl, even if he had been a perfect gentleman all evening at last weekend's gala. Or as close to gentlemanly as a Malfoy could get, she supposed. Hardly a catty remark or insulting comment, certainly tame for his standards. Their whole interaction was entirely civil, bordering on polite, perhaps entering into friendly territory. It had been so odd. Then again, their children were friends (more than that, if Lily's gossip was to be believed), perhaps in the last twenty-someodd years he'd finally realised how to stop being a bastard.

And it was most definitely nice to have a conversation with quick-witted banter again. She loved Harry dearly, but he could be rather slow on the pick-up. Less so than Ron, though, not that it mattered since he was rarely in England anymore. Somehow Hermione hadn't picked up on Draco's intellect when they were in school. Must have been all the bigoted insults and curses he flung their way, but Hermione barely saw a trace of that obnoxious, self-entitled boy in the man she spoke with the other evening. His clothes were still expensive and his nose still in the air, but Draco had been almost kind when they had spoken. He'd even walked her to the designated fireplaces when the party ended, to make sure she Floo'd home safely. Hermione hardly recognised she was smiling at the memory as she unfolded the note to read it through once more. 

“I thought I might find you here.”

Hermione's head snapped up at the sound of a drawling voice and far-too-expensive shoes reverberating through the quite hall. 

“M-Malfoy! What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, obviously. You're lucky I came here first, I'd have been rather annoyed if I'd gone up to your empty office for no reason,” Draco said as he strode down the corridor to her table. 

Hermione quickly stuffed the parchment back in its envelope and hid it under the books and papers that littered the desk. She was still organizing her documents when he came to sit on the corner of the desk.

“Well I'm glad I'm so predictable.”

“You made quite an impression on Liechtenstein, you know.”

“He has a name, Malfoy.”

“Look at this, he's wondering when he might get to see you again.”

Hermione took the letter from his outstretched hand and scanned its broken English quickly. She was subtly impressed with Draco's ability to ingratiate himself with nearly anyone. Her office had been writing to Liechtenstein for months, and even her hand-written notes had received nothing more than a formal, secretary-scribed response. But here, in a matter of weeks, Draco was on a first name basis with the ICW member and they were exchanging casual notes. 

Braggart though he might've been, Draco wasn't exaggerating. Apparently the Liechtenstein representative did think rather highly of her. The letter asked when the “Ministry mavin and she's beutiful brain” would be appearing again. If Hermione had known it would only have taken a backless gown and a round of firewhiskey, she would have attended far more parties on the Ministry's dime. 

Then her datebook might actually be full.

She gave an exacerbated laugh and put the slip of parchment down in front of her.

“I'm going to Berlin next week. The European Security and Confinement Management Conference? I'm to be part of panel on safe penitentiary security and prisoner rights... What?”

Hermione stopped talking when she saw Draco's face break out into a wide grin. She knew that look: he was happy about something that just had twisted to his favor. That unforgettable look, more than likely accompanied by the library atmosphere, brought her back to old Hogwarts habits. 

She crossed her arms and huffed, glaring at him. “What is it, Malfoy?”

“My father sponsors the conference. Your panel is one he was rather insistent on having.”

Hermione could do nothing but gape, her mouth opened and closed several times before she formed a coherent word.

“Why?”

“My father _was_ imprisoned at Azkaban for nearly a year,” he said lazily as he stretched across the desk to take back his correspondence. 

Hermione felt a slight flush creep up her neck. Lucius Malfoy had definitely deserved to go to prison, and her part in sending him there had never bothered her before. But now, it was much different to consider it from the perspective of the father of her friend, if she dared to use the term for their cordial conversations. She was about to apologize, or something close to it, when Draco cut her off and slid off the table.

“I'll see you at the closing ball then. Cheers,” he said, walking away with the last word.

Hermione huffed another sigh and took out her thank you note. She paused a moment before Incendio-ing it, a smile on her lips. At least he'd saved her a trip to the owlery.

*      *      *

If Draco was honest with himself, he'd have to admit that never before had such a productive, out-of-office meeting occurred, let alone one at a party. Liechtenstein was being more than agreeable, and Hermione was contributing more than she knew. An hour into the party and Draco'd already secured two new trade agreements thanks to the foreigner's preoccupation with Hermione's every word. He'd never been so content to listen to Hermione Granger prattle on about every meaningless iota of knowledge she had ever acquired. Hell, if it kept bringing him in this kind of money he'd put her on retainer.

More than that, Draco might actually have been having fun.

There was something in the way Hermione kept egging him on to join her side in the debates on international litigation, or how her hand kept coming to rest on his arm when she strove to make a point. Whenever Draco inevitably made a mistake in his wizarding law, he couldn't help but break out in a grin when Hermione started to laugh. Her mirth was infectious when she stood so close, and her conversation engaging. He found it hard to believe that two weeks ago had been their first civil interaction since they met. The comfort he felt with her didn't seem like a mere two-weeks of communication.

After Liechtenstein bowed, shook hands and was reluctantly dragged away by his exacerbated wife, Draco left Hermione an apparent acquaintance to go order a new glass of firewhiskey from the bar. He was starting to get used to the whole open bar concept, no wonder his father attended so many galas of his own accord. The networking was good, but the free booze made it worthwhile.

He was making his way back towards Hermione when he saw her toss her hair over her shoulder and look worriedly at him. She stepped to turn and walk to him when the warlock she was excusing herself from grabbed her wrist and pull her back into conversation. Draco quickened his pace.

“Hermione, I was thinking we—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt,” Draco said as he came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. He felt Hermione stiffen briefly, from his use of her given name or the physical contact he wasn't sure, but it just pulled her body up against his, not breaking eye contact with the German drunk.

“No, no, it's fine, Mr Münzel here was just congratulating me on surviving the most recent Ministry re-shuffle,” Hermione said, gesturing to the man in front of her. Draco took the opening and thrust the glass towards her as he leant forward to shake the German's hand. 

“Malfoy, pleasure, I'm sure,” he said, with just enough malice as necessary.

Draco kept hold of Hermione's shoulder while he all but broke the drunk's hand in the exchange. He couldn't quite explain it, but Draco wanted to make it quite clear to this Münzel fellow that Hermione would not be talking to him any more this evening. 

“Ja, pleasure,” Münzel said warily, his hand going straight into his pocket. Draco smirked, _pressure points are a bitch, aren't they?_

Draco let his hand slide down Hermione's back to her waist as he turned her to face him instead of the plastered foreigner. He took the glass back from her and put it immediately to her forehead.

“Are you feeling better yet? You still look dreadfully flush,” he said and winked. 

He wasn't lying at least, she was blushing terribly. Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again when he pulled her closer to him. 

“Let's take you out for some air,” Draco turned to Münzel and nodded briefly, “please excuse us, she hasn't been feeling well.”

Draco ushered her out onto the balcony and waved his wand lazily to close the door behind them. He added a warming charm to the patio for good measure.

“You needn't have done that,” Hermione said bashfully once they reached the ledge.

“In the future I will let you continue be accosted by pissed wizards. Never again will I intervene,” he said with a flourish. 

Hermione smacked him lightly on the arm, but she smiled widely anyway as she whispered a thank you. Draco smirked and pushed himself up to sit on the railing, his back to the Berlin sky. His attempt to choke down some more firewhiskey was stopped by Hermione's hand on his elbow. He raised an eyebrow at the concern etched on her face.

“Be careful,” her tone so demanding Draco immediately felt bad for her children. 

“Of what, falling off? Do you really think so little of my reflexes, Granger?”

He leant back further, just to scare her, but Hermione's grip on his arm tightened and she nearly pulled him forward onto his face. 

“Just don't, fall, okay?” she said as she let go, chuckling slightly. “Sorry, I'm just a little scared of heights.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Draco said, finally succeeding in having a sip. “I take it that's why I've never seen you on a broom?”

“No, but there was a Thestral once or twice. _That_ was terrifying, I couldn't see the bleeding thing the first time,” said Hermione as she turned to lean against the railing next to him. She took the glass from his hand and took a swig. “Makes me jittery again just thinking about it.”

Draco was startled at the thought of riding a Thestral, but more so to see Hermione chugging down his drink. 

“Thestral, huh? That's intense. Beats a Hippogriff, I'll bet,” he said, taking the glass back from her and finishing it off. 

He heard her stifle a laugh. “Not really, Hippogriffs are more comfortable. Far more squishy.”

Draco raised another eyebrow, but decided he didn't really want to know. Inevitably she would just make fun of his injury in third year, or reprimand him for trying to get the blasted thing killed. The witch could hold a grudge better than most Slytherins he knew. Instead he opted to Transfigure the glass to be bottomless. He muttered the incantation under his breath and watched out of the corner of his eye as she huffed disapprovingly. 

“I was drinking elderflower wine, you know.”

“This is better for your heart,” he said, handing her back the glass with a smirk.

*      *      *

Hermione Apparated back into her house with a _pop_ that was far too loud to her own ears. She had been heading to Flourish and Blotts to find a new book, whatever would have done, but she never quite got there. She had run into Draco Malfoy first. Walking through The Leaky Cauldron, stopped for a bit of conversation and four hours later she had only just arrived home.

Her head hurt already. Too many firewhiskies. Far too many. 

Nonetheless, she smiled to herself as she took off her shoes and remembered her evening. Hermione wasn't really a drinker. Sure she liked a glass of wine each evening, and perhaps some vodka from time to time, which she always had stashed in the freezer (she blamed Victor for that one), but mostly she was rather tame with her alcohol. Lately, though, she was beginning feeling a bit like a lush. 

_Well, at least I'm having fun. And who cares if it's with Malfoy, it's not like anyone else is willing._

Momentarily, Hermione's mind headed into spiteful territory. Spite for Ron who was always away, for Ginny and Harry who were so involved with themselves they couldn't spare any time for her, for Neville for being at Hogwarts and for Luna who'd been in South America for months now. In all of her forethought and planning, Hermione never considered that she'd be the one lonely at the end of the day. 

That was, if anyone ever asked her, not that they would, probably why she spent her whole evening doing shots with an old enemy: she didn't want to head back to an empty house and spend her evening alone again with just a book to keep her company.

_I'm just pathetic._

Hermione fell into bed, clothes littered on the floor, and stared at the ceiling. She realised she was just lying on her side of the king-sized bed and scoffed at herself. 

_Who else would be here?_

She scooted over to the center of the bed and spread out. Oddly, it was far more comfortable, but she was far from sleep. The firewhiskey still burned at her throat and the talks of next week's Andorran gala still swam in her head. She couldn't stop thinking about the way Draco tried to talk her out of Apparating under the influence while holding her steady. His hands on her shoulders, and then her waist when she lurched forward... Damnedable Gryffindor nerve. At least she hadn't splinched herself. 

Desperate for sleep, she let her hand wander down between her legs and work until she screamed in release and exhaustion. 

“Maybe I should get a cat,” Hermione muttered, a vague smile on her face. She rolled over and fell asleep, completely unaware of which name she cried out or whose eyes she imagined.

*      *      *

Draco arrived with a jolt as the Portkey let him down in the courtyard of the mansion.

“Kent, England, at 19:34, bon vespre. Ministry of Magic, England, at 19:35, bon vespre.”

He was quickly ushered forward towards the entrance staircase with dozens of other British witches and wizards, most of whom were still catching their balance. One witch from the Ministry caravan appeared to be having the utmost difficulty staying upright. He heard her friend trying to help steady her as he walked away. 

“Hold on, Gerania, get your bearings, don't—whoa!” 

Draco felt a body fall against his back and a hand grasp his robes. He spun around to shove the person off, but ended up saving the witch from falling instead. It wasn't until she looked up to apologize that he found his aggravation had dissipated. 

“Good evening, Granger,” he said coyly. Draco couldn't help but smirk at her blush as he helped her stand up. 

“Thanks,” Hermione said and smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress robes.

“Sorry, Mrs Weasley. I didn't mean to—”

“It's fine, Gerania, please. Why don't you go find the washroom. I'll see you inside.”

As the tiny witch rushed off inside, Draco and Hermione slowly walked side-by-side towards the staircase. Portkey arrivals were announced behind them from Switzerland and Beijing, and the crowd grew. The swell of people propelled them up the stairs, and Draco began to wonder if there was anyone in the wizarding world the new Andorran Minister for Magic hadn't invited to his first state ball.

“I take it the entire British Ministry is here,” Draco said with an eyebrow raised. 

“Close to it. We had over twenty from my department on one Portkey. It's a wonder no one fell off,” she said, righting her hairpiece.

“You should have come to mine in Kent. It was just myself and two others.”

“In the future I'll keep that in mind,” Hermione said with a quick smile. “You're not living in Wiltshire anymore?”

“I moved out and built a house in Dartford before we married. We used to spend the summers at the Manor,” he said dryly, keeping his emotion hidden. “But mostly Scorpius and I visit for a week or two before he runs off with his friends,” he finished with a knowing wink.

They followed the line of witches and wizards into the mansion's foyer where House Elves and Transfigured coat stands relieved guests of their cloaks and hats. Draco chuckled to himself as he saw Hermione be chastised in Catalan by an angry Elf when she attempted to hang her own garment. Would she never learn? 

When it was their turn, they walked on to the ballroom balcony and oversaw the clearly-Charmed ballroom which was larger than it looked from the outside. It really did appear as if every member from every Ministry in the world was crammed into the hall. On their right, the majordomo slammed his staff against the floor three times, and the loud chatter in the ballroom fell to a soft murmur.

Draco heard Hermione mutter something under her breath about antiquated French customs, but it wasn't until he saw the slight blush on her cheeks as she was introduced that he smirked. 

“Mrs Hermione Granger-Weasley, Order of Merlin, First Class, Head of the Legislative Affairs Office, Chairwitch for the Council of Magical Law, British Ministry of Magic, Governor for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” the warlock announced, pausing only slightly before continuing, “and Mr Draco Malfoy.”

“Show off,” he whispered sarcastically.

“That was always your domain, Malfoy. I'm just a know-it-all, remember?”

Based purely out of habit and cotillion training, Draco offered his arm to her to help her down the staircase to the main ballroom. He saw the her look of surprise and skepticism, and almost dropped his hand back down to his side, in spite of how disappointed his mother would be if she ever found out, but Hermione wrapped her hand around his forearm before he could, smiling. 

“It's not my fault that I was on the winning side, you know,” she said, jokingly. 

“Of course not. The medal was overkill, though,” Draco said, leaning over to whisper in her ear.

“Oh! How dare you, that was more than earned fighting your ferret arse,” Hermione said facetiously, elbowing him slightly. 

“Language, Granger. This is a classy party, stop being such a Mudblood,” he said, winking. 

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes when the reached the bottom of the stairs. “Why don't you make yourself useful and go get me a drink?”

At that Draco raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Well, this is a 'classy party' right? Aren't the men obligated to see to the women's wishes?”

Draco started laughing heartily before Hermione joined in. The irony of their situation wasn't lost on either of them. And he really had to admit, Draco never thought he'd ever be laughing over the past, joking about the present with Hermione Granger. He'd grown rather used to her presence in the last several weeks, it was a friendship unlike any he'd ever had before. There were no pretenses, no lies or false fronts. He wasn't sure he could remember a time when he'd been so honest with another person, let alone himself. 

“Well, come on then, you,” Draco said, steering them over to the bar. “Let's find you a spot so you can order your own bloody drink.”

Hermione laughed. “So much for gentlemanly.”

With drinks in hand they made their way to a less crowded corner to talk. Not that they got very far, every passing person had something to say. And when Hermione's assistant showed up, it was all Draco could do not to roll his eyes. It was clearly the girl's first formal event, she couldn't have been but a year out of Hogwarts.

“I want to apologize again, Mrs Weasley. I'm afraid I've never been very good with Portkeys, I never even tried for my Apparition license,” Gerania said quickly, “I like to keep all my body parts in one place, thank you very much.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Hermione purse her lips in a way he'd come to recognize as annoyance. He chuckled lightly into his glass as he took another sip. Draco had listened to her complain about her insecure, overly anxious assistant before, now he was beginning to see why she was so aggravating. 

“It's quite alright, Gerania. It could have been worse, I could have fallen on someone else,” Hermione said, her eyes darting around looking for a way out of the conversation. 

“Yes, at least it was a friend. Someone less gentlemanly might've just shoved you right to the ground,” Draco said, his sarcasm lost on the young witch.

“That would have been awful,” the girl said, nodding harshly. “So where's your wife, Mr Malfoy? I'd love to meet her.”

Draco noticed both he and Hermione stiffened slightly. He didn't know exactly what for, but he knew there was a slight dash of guilt mixed in with the feeling of inappropriateness, with a splash of irritation. 

“Astoria was unavailable to attend this evening,” said Draco rather stiffly, “unfortunately.”

“It is a shame you didn't have the opportunity to meet her, she's incredibly nice,” Hermione said, the earnestness in her voice wavering slightly. He thought he even her heard swallow. 

Surrounded by Ministry officials, Draco knew a teary-eyed Granger next to him would inevitable lead to bloodied Malfoy, but he wasn't really that concerned with his safety. He felt the urge to change the subject more for her sake than his. He could tell she was empathetic, the pain etched on her face betrayed her even tone. And as mean as Draco could be, he wasn't cruel enough to force those dreadful feelings on someone else. He didn't want them himself, and seeing Hermione shudder a breath only made his own heart ache again. 

So Draco extended his hand to her, his arm behind his back and head slightly bent.

“What're you _doing?_ ” Hermione asked incredulously. She glanced over at Gerania, who had already moved on to bother somebody else.

“I'm asking for a dance, Granger,” he said, look up to smirk at her, “or didn't they teach Muggles the pleasantries of social interaction?”

He watched as a smile spread across her face. Hermione put her hand in his and gave a brief curtsey.

“Of course we learned the pleasantries. We also learned that only gentlemen observe them,” she said, as he led them out onto the dance floor. “And I really didn't think I knew any. Let alone any men who danced.”

Draco spun her around into place, and pulled her close as the started a Viennese Waltz. “Perhaps you'll redeem yourself for your earlier crudeness, then” she said, blushing.

“I plan on it.”

*      *      *

“There's a loophole in here? I wouldn't have...”

Hermione smiled over her cup of tea and waited for him to figure it out. In the past two months, Draco Malfoy had become an unexpected confidante of sorts. She had friends she could talk to and colleagues she could consult with, but Draco didn't ask painful questions and he thought like the old lawmakers—which, she hated to admit, was practically invaluable. Definitely moreso than their growing camaraderie. 

“Oh, well that's hardly fair. 'Until such time diluted bloodlines are integral to perpetuating the wizarding society.' That was not the original intention of this bill and you know it,” Draco said, taking off his glasses and pointing at her with them.

“But an amendment to the statute stating that Muggle-borns, in addition to 'diluted bloodlines,' have been decreed a requisite part of the wizarding world, should do it. Then I wouldn't have to abolish the law, it's too interconnected to things we actually need.”

“Isn't that just a bodge job?”

“I plan to go back and rewrite all of the legislature eventually, but I need to get rid of all the booby traps first.”

Hermione took another sip of her tea and smiled to herself as Draco leant back in his chair. She watched as he crossed his arms and looked out the window to the shoppers scurrying around Diagon Alley, his spectacles dangling lightly from his lips. It was a side of Draco she had become accustomed to over the last few weeks: a pensive Malfoy who kept his mouth shut and let her talk, something she swore he never did in school.

Ron always wanted to ramble on about something, he didn't know how to enjoy a peaceful silence. 

Her mind stopped when she locked eyes with his over the tea table. 

“I never thought you'd end up with him.”

Hermione blinked several times in shock. 

“Who? _Ron?_ ” she asked incredulously. She knew Draco was a skilled Occlumens, but she wondered if he knew Legilimency as well. 

“I always thought maybe, I don't know, Potter? Or Krum eventually, but I never thought you and Weasley would last,” Draco said, nonchalantly folding his glasses and placing them on the table.

“ _Harry?_ Really! Why did everyone think we were dating?”

“You were always together, he always defended your honor.”

Hermione scoffed. “Harry did that for everyone. He's almost like a brother to me.”

“And Krum?” 

She watched as Draco leant forward on the table, his eyes borrowing into hers intently. 

“A, a schoolyard fling,” Hermione murmured. She looked back to her tea, purposely stirring in more sugar to avoid her embarrassment. “It was the first time a boy had paid attention to me for more than homework help. It was... flattering.”

She quickly took a sip of her tea, only to choke on its sweetness. Hermione couldn't understand why Draco was suddenly so interested in her dating history. It made her heart flutter, but whether from nervousness or excitement, she didn't know. She couldn't remember the last time Ron had looked at her with that much attention.

“And what about you and Pansy, hmmm?” Hermione asked, wanting to turn the tables a bit. Draco laughed, but she noticed a bit of pink around his ears nonetheless. 

“Pansy was, I don't want to say like a sister, because that makes it sound pervy, but I knew her my whole life. She took it all a lot more seriously than I did, it was just... Can I say shagging and attention without sounding like a careless prick?”

“Not really, but I understand what you're saying,” Hermione chuckled and shook her head, “And Astoria then? How did that start?” 

She Vanished her tea and poured herself a new cup. It wasn't until she looked up that she noticed the sullen expression on Draco's face. His jaw was clenched and he was looking out the window again. Hermione stirred her new cup as she thought how to backtrack. She had been enjoying their conversation; she didn't want to mess it up. But before she could say anything he continued.

“Astoria was willing to be the wife of traitor. I think part of her liked it, that her family had redeemed themselves, or something like that. The Greengrasses were never supporters, not even behind closed doors.

“I did like her, I still do in a way. She was dishy, sure, and she wasn't stupid like Pansy. But at least she knew what she was involved with, Astoria was unaware of the Malfoy transgressions.”

He paused, and looked at Hermione. She knew she had a bewildered look on her face, but she couldn't help it, she had no clue what he was on about.

“You know all about it, my father's true sentiments, my Mark and failed task, the torture that occurred at the Manor...” 

Draco trailed off and she shuddered. She didn't want to remember all those things, the way he tried to kill Dumbledore and took down to Gryffindors in the process, how he let his aunt Crucio her while he whimpered in the background, the curses that Lucius Malfoy threw at her in fury; there was a lot of pain in those memories, but she nodded. His hand jerked forward momentarily, she thought to hold hers, but he reached for the teapot instead. 

“You know all that because you were there,” he said, pouring himself another cup, “or because Potter was telepathic or something. But Astoria, well, she didn't. Not much of my family's actual exploits got out afterwards, and in a certain way, the Malfoys were seen as minor heroes. Hell, Potter even got my mother an Order of Merlin...

“She was two years younger than us in school, and was almost too young to know what was going on. Her sister started weaving stories, Pansy did as well, about how the Malfoys helped save the world, and for whatever reason I never corrected her. Vanity, or cowardice more likely, but she spent our entire courtship, most of our marriage thinking she'd snagged a pureblood war hero.”

Hermione nodded slowly and took another sip of tea. She only barely remembered Astoria at Hogwarts, although she remembered Daphne being a bit of a bitch. From the few times Hermione met Astoria in social settings she'd seemed nice enough. Certainly on the kinder side for a Slytherin.

“And she found out?”

“She wanted to tell Scorpius. She wanted to tell him before he went to school that his father was a hero, but I wouldn't let her. I told her I would.”

Hermione sucked in a breath and held it, she started to guess why she hadn't met the woman more than a few times. 

“I told my son that my mother had helped save Harry Potter's life, but that I hardly had anything to do with it. I told him that I was a misguided kid who thought he was the baddest boy at school and I paid the price by nearly killing people for it, people who didn't deserve it.”

Draco took his tea and leant back in chair, his ankle on his knee and his elbow on the ledge of the window as he stared out of. Hermione felt tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. She'd never considered how much Draco had suffered, not really. In the aftermath it was so easy to forget him, ignore his plights and move on to a better future, but there was a losing side too. Most may have ended up in Azkaban, but the Malfoys, in their self-defined grey area, attempted to live again. Even if the rest of the wizarding world thought they shouldn't. And Draco had been fighting against that for the last twenty years, and he was still fighting, even with himself.

“During his third year, Scorpius came home for Christmas and asked about the War for a History of Magic essay. It was over dinner, and, I guess, I thought it was pointless to keep things a secret any more. He was going to piece things together eventually, so I told them both, everything I knew. 

“Astoria spent the next three months fighting with me. She wanted a divorce, she wanted to take Scorpius and slander me, but she is bound by the marriage not do anything that might besmirch the Malfoy name. By the end of the school year she'd resigned herself and just started avoiding me. I think she's just biding her time until she doesn't care anymore and the magic lets her divorce me.”

Hermione stared at Draco, something close to pity in her eyes. She hated the part of her that was involved in destroying the Malfoy family, but she hated even more the other part of her that said they deserved it. Dealing with Draco was never easy. It wore on her emotions and made her brain work overtime, but moments like this made it worthwhile. When he confided in her, joked with her over tea, helped her with the antiquated legal rhetoric, it was like having a best friend again. Someone who willingly available and wanted to spend time with her. 

The more she thought of it, the more it was like having a boyfriend again.

She stared back into her cup. That line of thinking was inconsiderate, and dangerous. Draco was neither a best friend, nor her boyfriend, but nonetheless it made her smile that he thought highly enough of her nowadays to even broach such a personal topic. When she looked back to him, he had a hand in his hair, and was looking more at ease again.

“At least Scorpius took it alright. Or relationship doesn't seem to have changed. I think he even did well on the paper.”

Hermione smiled widely as she poured them both more tea, her hand brushing his lightly as she reached to hold his cup steady.

“He wanted to be a better man than his father.”

“What?” he asked, confused, as he looked up from her hands to her eyes.

“It's what Rose told me, a few years ago, when she asked Scorpius why he wasn't in Slytherin.”

“Hmmm,” Draco said, putting his glasses on again and leaning forward to look over the legal papers. “Well let's hope the donation I'm making to the Dark Arts Defense Association will force him to be even better. You'll be there, I presume?”

Hermione smiled wryly and took a sip of her tea before reorganizing her files. “Of course, I love a good banquet.”

*      *      *

Draco stood, waiting, at the bar. He chuckled to himself as he drained his glass. He couldn't quite remember how drinking became an integral part of his relationship with Hermione, but it definitely seemed to help more than it hurt, so why the hell not have another. It was only his third so far, and who cared if the night wasn't so young anymore.

He received an owl from Hermione before the Portkey to Lahore was scheduled to leave, saying she'd be a bit late, but this was rather ridiculous. The banquet was about to start, and she still hadn't arrived. If he had to suffer through dinner alone with no one to make snarky comments to, she'd hear about it tomorrow. As would everyone else in her office. 

Draco pulled the note out of his pocket, to read it again. 

        _Going to be late, see you there.  
              —H _

Her script, usually neat and tidy, looked rushed and uneven. She hadn't specified what she was tied up with, but Draco guessed it was some stupid law review or rewrite. Until he heard her voice from across the room.

“I do apologize, Camellia, I'm terribly late.”

Draco turned around to find the tardy witch, but saw the tall red-head first.

“All my fault, actually. I held Hermione up getting here. So sorry, but I wasn't sure I was going to be able to get away until the last minute. Got a little bunged up in the field, too, but all to keep us safe from the Dark, right?” Ron said, laughing at his own joke. 

Draco saw him, his arm around Hermione's shoulders, talking to a small, waifish witch whom he recognized as the president of the Dark Arts Defense Association. She had thanked him for his generous donation to the evening's fundraiser, although she looked even more ecstatic now that two-thirds of the Golden Trio were present. Annoyed, Draco wondered if he could ask for his 5,000 galleons back. More importantly he wondered if he could punch the bumbling idiot in the face.

Ignoring the pang of jealousy and contempt that raced through him, Draco got up from the bar and started walking towards the pair, intent on ending the ridiculous fawning. Unfortunately, the weasel spotted him first. 

“What's Malfoy doing here? Sure he isn't crashing the party?” Draco wanted to sneer and roll his eyes, but Hermione's sympathetic stare kept him from sinking to the Weasley's level.

“Ron, be nice,” she said. Draco watched her pull her husband along towards their table, excusing them from the fundraising witch.

“Just because our children are friends doesn't mean we have to be. My parents were never friends with the Dursleys,” grumbled Ron loudly. Draco assumed the idiot wanted him to hear.

“They were never overtly antagonistic either. Just nod and keep moving, alright?”

As they drew closer, Draco noticed how exasperated Hermione looked. Her annoyance with her husband was obvious, but when she looked at Draco her expression softened. 

“Malfoy,” Hermione said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Weasley. Granger,” said Draco, keeping a straight face and a glare at Ron. He noticed Hermione frown slightly as she walked away, her husband's hand on her waist. 

Draco turned back to the bar and ordered another drink, aiming to drown away the aggravation and disappointment he was _not_ feeling with more firewhiskey. The constant annoyance of that wanker Weasley's voice wasn't helping, though. The more Draco drank, the more he wanted to punch the duffer in the mouth. He wished they'd walk away faster.

“He knows we're married, why did he call you Granger?”

“What else would he call me? Hermione?”

“Mrs Weasley—”

“Who is your mother. I hyphenated my name, Ron, and it's not as if we don't all know one another,” Hermione said, frowning as she looked over her shoulder to find Draco. 

He found her eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets. He just stared back at her, neither gaze wavering. Draco noticed the disappointment in her eyes as she mouthed “sorry” and he smirked weakly, his grin fading as he turned to walk out of hearing distance. He left his half-full glass on the bar top. He couldn't listen to the two of them talk any longer. It was painful, and perhaps not just because Weasley perpetually seemed to have a 13-year-old's vocabulary and maturity. 

“Bloody hell! We are _not_ sitting with him.”

It appeared he hadn't walked far enough. There was a heavy ache in his chest, and he was almost sure it wasn't the firewhiskey burning its way down.

“Ron, please, don't make a scene,” he heard Hermione plead.

Draco walked into the cloakroom and asked for a Portkey back to England. He wasn't hungry anymore.

*      *      *

Hermione was humming. She wasn't aware of it, but she was. All while she started unpacking her parcels from her after-work jaunt to Diagon Alley. She had an hour to get ready for the Indian State Dinner, so Hermione quickly pulled out her new deep purple dress robes and laid them out on her chaise longue as she got ready to shower.

She didn't even notice her husband until he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Ron!”

“Hey,” he said sheepishly as she turned around in his arms.

“Hey yourself,” she gave him a quick kiss. She smiled broadly, genuinely happy that her husband was back. “Welcome home. I didn't know you were scheduled to come back this month.”

“Bit of a surprise for me, too. The takedown went down early. You'll probably have the papers on your desk in the morning.”

“Fantastic, just what I need, more paperwork,” Hermione said, giving him another peck. 

“I thought we could have a nice dinner,” he said, letting her go to continue put things away.

“Then I wished you would have considered my schedule, as well,” she said a bit tersely. “I have a state dinner in New Delhi this evening."

Hermione sighed. She really didn't want to be angry with Ron, but he wasn't exactly accommodating whenever he came back from the field. Even though he was running around fighting Dark wizards in the Middle East, saving Muggle lives and wizarding children from suicidal Muggles and warlocks alike, when he came back home he thought her world should revolve around him again, forgetting that she had her own job or plans. _Then again, Harry's the same way. It must be a bloke thing._

“How can you stand those things, Hermione? The one in Lahore was awful. Bloody boring.”

“Just because state dinners are boring doesn't mean I'm relieved of my obligation,” she said, before being distracted by an owl flying through the window. “Excuse me.”

Hermione opened the envelope and saw the party invitation and a scrap of parchment inside. Chuckling softly as she read it.

        _Just got this, you going?  
              —D _

She pulled a quill off her vanity and scribbled a quick reply while Ron rummaged through her new books and potion supplies. 

        _Had mine for weeks._

Hermione sent the owl off and turned back to Ron. “Sorry.”

He walked forward and rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Why don't you skip the party tonight? We'll stay in, watch one of your movies...”

“I can't, Ron. I was personally invited by the Indian Minister.”

“Was I included in that?” he asked with a small puppy dog lip that Hermione wanted to roll her eyes at. It never worked on her, she wasn't sure why he kept trying.

“Of course you were. Would you like to come with me?” 

“I'd rather spend the evening here with you.”

Hermione was about to respond when the owl swooped in again and dropped its note in her outstretched hand. She read it and pulled the quill out from her hair. 

        _Trust the Ministry to forget the Malfoys. Portkey in Kent at 8?_

        _Mine's at 8:30. My office at 8?_

“I'm sorry, Ron, but I can't,” she said, a slight frown on her face as she stepped into her new robes and looked at herself in the mirror. Her husband was taking up too much of her time, a quick Cleansing Charm would have to suffice instead of an actual shower. 

“I'll wait up for you then, maybe we can have dessert,” said Ron with a goofy smile.

“I won't be back until tomorrow afternoon because of the time difference. And it's standard Indian custom to offer their guests a place to stay overnight in the palace after a state dinner.”

Hermione was only paying slight attention to Ron as she started to pull her hair back and put on her make-up. She noticed his shuffling, the frown, the downcast look, and she turned to give him a hug. 

“I'm sorry, Ron, but I really do have to go.”

“I know.”

“Why don't you go see your parents. I bet Harry and Ginny will be there, too,” she said, giving him a kiss. “I'll see you tomorrow night, alright?”

“Okay, take care. Have fun, if you can,” Ron said, an attempt to be upbeat, before he pulled her close and gave her a long hug. Hermione felt herself relax into it and almost wish she didn't have to go, she started to think that if she just stayed home with her husband for the evening he might not leave her again. But she'd tried that before, and he always left again. 

Hermione sighed again and squeezed him tightly before letting him go. “Give everyone my love.”

“I will.”

She was about to follow him to the fireplace, but the owl came back and dropped a slip of parchment on her desk. She walked over and read it

        _Lucky bitch._

Hermione smiled, tucked the note into her purse and finished up her make-up. She didn't even hear when the flare of the Floo fire in the next room or Ron as he shouted out for The Borrow.

*      *      *

“Come, come, now, Granger. I thought your love of knowledge knew no end.”

“It doesn't. My love of sneaking about, however, ended over 20 years ago. I have to give a speech in an hour, Malfoy, let's return to the ballroom.”

“I'm not going to invoke the clichéd Gryffindor courage here, but you're seriously disappointing me, you know.”

“Well, we can't have that.” Hermione tapped her wand to her hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. She rounded the corner with confidence and strode briskly past Draco. “Come along then, the library's this way. We don't have much time.”

Draco shook his head as he walked faster to keep up with her. “You knew where it was?”

“The Prime Minister mentioned it when I arrived. Apparently you're not the only one who thinks I'm a bookworm.”

“No, the whole wizarding world knows that fact, I guarantee you.”

“Shush you!” She glared at him, but there was no malice in her eyes. Draco just shoved his hands in his pockets and started whistling nonchalantly while she chuckled.

They found the library, and Draco could only laugh as Hermione gasped and ran straight for the nearest bookcase. He had to admit though, the extensive collection of the Indian Minister had was rather impressive. If he had been younger, and stupider, there were books in here he would have Crucio'd to get his hands on. So instead he walked over to the history section while Hermione took a small tome and sat on the edge of the desk in the middle of the room.

He watched as she scanned the book quickly, but mostly he watched her. She had her legs crossed daintily and every so often she pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear.

Draco pulled the book out of her hands and took a step forward, pinning her to the desk. Hermione looked up into his eyes, her brows furrowed in worry. He could feel her breath on his neck, and he could see her trembling slightly

“Malfoy....” she said, warningly.

But he didn't stop. 

He reached back and unfastened her hair, burrowing a hand into her locks as he dragged her lips to his. Draco expected to have to pressure her mouth open, but he didn't anticipate how quickly she responded. She grabbed the front of his robes, uncrossed her legs and pulled him closer. Her mouth was soft against his as their tongues fought for dominance. He slid a hand down her back and hitched up her robe to grab her thigh.

Draco didn't want to stop, he wanted to keep kissing her, he never wanted to stop, but Hermione leant back and gasped a breath. He took the opportunity to start breathing again as well, and the air seemed so much sweeter.

“I've been wanting to do that since Andorra,” he muttered against her lips before leaning in for more. 

But this time she stopped him. “Malfoy... Draco, we can't.”

“We can,” he said, moving to get his lips on hers again.

“I can't.”

At that, Draco leant back and looked at her. With more venom than he intended, he said “Why not?”

“Because—”

“Because you have a husband who is never around? Because I have a wife who is afraid of me? Because you have to speak to a ballroom full of wankers? Do _not_ give those reasons, Hermione. Your logic is better than that.”

She sat rigid on the desk, silent, and watching him as he pushed off and pace in front of the desk. After a moment of silence he spun on his heel and started to walk back to the door. He didn't need this, he was not going to be turned down because Hermione Granger was, for once in her life, too chicken to do something she knew was right.

“Because I think about you all the time,” she said, quietly.

Draco stopped, dropped his hand and turned to look at her. He wouldn't let himself believe he just heard that.

“Because I talk to you more than I do to my best friends. Because I send more owls to you than my parents. Because somewhere between Berlin and Lahore this stopped being a friendly flirtation, in my mind it morphed into something far more... More. More important, more serious, more—just more,” Hermione finished weakly. 

He walked away from the door, and for a second Hermione looked terrified. Probably that he might pin her against the desk again, and she wouldn't have the will to stop him twice, but Draco dropped himself into the armchair in front of her. 

“You really know how to bollocks up a good thing, Granger.”

He dragged his hands through his hair, his elbows on his knees. She was admitting to everything he couldn't, but everything he felt. The friendship, the attraction. They could have this, and she wasn't going to let them because she was concerned he didn't feel the same way. _Stupid bint, how could she be so bloody smart and so fucking dumb at the same time?_

“We don't have a thing.” 

“But we could have. We still can.”

“We can't,” she said, looking anywhere but at him.

“I can, but you can't. Or won't.”

Hermione looked him in the eye then. “I won't, Draco,” her voice wavered slightly, but her gaze was unyielding. 

He clenched his jaw and bit back his anger. He wanted to yell at her, to scream and shake her. He refused to believe she was oblivious to how much they both wanted this. Needed it. The surprising friendship they had developed over the last eight months was the act of two desperate people in need of the companionship they so horrendously lacked from their spouses. 

But if she wanted to she wanted to pretend she was the only one with feelings, he wouldn't correct her. He wouldn't tell her that he'd dreamt of her after that first party, wouldn't tell her that she'd plagued his thoughts since the banquet in Germany, wouldn't tell her that their run-ins weren't accidental, that he'd sought her out. He definitely wouldn't let her know that he didn't dislike her, whatever she might think, that he enjoyed their company and loved their conversations, that he liked being part of her life, being her friend. He didn't want to lose that.

“I have to go,” she said, getting off the desk and walking to the door, but Draco intercepted her. 

He held the door closed as she tried to open it. “Hermione, stop. You don't run away from things, don't run away from this.”

“I have to give a speech, we'll talk afterwards,” she said earnestly, her eyes watering. She leaned up and gave him a slow peck on the lips. “I promise.”

And after Hermione spoke to the entire party, Draco stayed at her side to ensure she wouldn't run away. But to his surprise, she didn't. And as the event started to die down, she took his hand and walked him back to the library. 

She had barely walked them into the room when, after a momentary hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck and melded her mouth against his.

Draco didn't know what changed her mind, and frankly he didn't care. Hermione was in his arms, kissing him, and this time he wasn't going to let her stop him. Their robes and wands were haphazardly discarded around the room as they made their way to the chaise. Their bodies moved together throughout the night, but when they both collapsed, sated and exhausted, Draco pulled Hermione up against his chest and they fell asleep. The comfort of sleeping with another person again, the closeness and warmth, was the best sleep he'd had in years. 

In the morning, when the sunlight hit their faces and they started to stir, Draco kissed her again, realizing he hadn't had enough last night. Hermione broke away to yawn, and he took the opportunity to nibble on her ear. 

“Hermione, I lov—” he started to whisper.

“No, no,” she said softly as she regained full consciousness. “Don't say it. You don't, not really. We're just lonely people, letting our need for a connection take us over.”

“I know I've got issues,” he said, brushing a stray tear away from her cheek.

“It's not that, Malfo—”

“Draco,” he corrected her and she blushed slightly. He realised he loved having that effect on her.

“It's not your issues, Draco,” she said his name teasingly. “All I'm saying is I'm not ready.”

“Ready for what?” he asked, tracing circles on her bare shoulder. 

When she didn't answer he started raking his teeth across a tender spot on her neck he'd found a few hours before. “More of this?”

Hermione groaned. “I'm definitely ready for more of that,” she said, but she turned over to face him fully, making him stop. “But I'm not ready to be your mistress, Draco. We can't do this again, not now. I love Ron, desperately, and I can't do this to him. I don't want to.”

He watched as a few tears leaked out of her eyes, and she bit her bottom lip anxiously. She was beautiful, and he wasn't quite sure he'd recognised it before. 

Draco nodded, unable to speak, and kissed her deeply, for what he thought was the last time. The whole time he cursed the bastard in his mind. Never did Draco think he'd lose to a Weasley. But more importantly, Ronald Weasley didn't deserve her.

*      *      *

Hermione started crying. She swore to herself she wouldn’t, but all her good intentions were forgotten when she saw him.

The day wasn’t exactly the way she imagined it, but when she saw her husband walking her baby girl down the aisle, Hermione knew it was perfect. The whole day was simply perfect. Even with the vultures from the _The Prophet_ attempting to sneak into the social event of the season: the Malfoy-Weasley wedding. 

Rose and Scoripus were a beautiful couple, nobody could deny it. Arthur did nothing but protest when they first started dating, but Hermione noticed he had been beaming all day. She even saw Narcissa bring a handkerchief to her eyes when the bride and groom exchanged their vows. 

As the ceremony seating dissolved into dinner tables and a dance floor, Hermione caught Ron's eye and smiled broadly, tears still in her eyes. He made his way over to her, but she shook her head and gave him a quick peck.

“I just need a minute,” she said, nodding to the garden outside, “I'll be right back."”

“I'll be here,” Ron said softly. 

Hermione quickly made her way to a bench behind some shrubbery and sighed heavily. She couldn't believe her little girl was married. She couldn't stop smiling, but she couldn't stop crying either. Happiness didn't even begin to describe what she felt for her daughter and her, now, son-in-law, but a heaviness hung on Hermione's heart as well. 

“I'm probably just feeling old,” she whispered to herself, as she Conjured a cigarette for herself. 

“We're all old these days.”

A familiar sarcastic drawl came from around the corner and Hermione felt a shiver run down to the base of her spine. A smile crept its way onto her face when Draco sat down next to her on the bench. She didn't even flinch when took the cigarette from her hand and stole a drag.

“I didn't know you smoked, Granger.”

“Escape mechanism. I couldn't stand the wedding planner, so I took up smoking to get away,” she said, taking the cigarette back.

“I can respect that.”

“Well thank you.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, staring at the sunset. Music and applause flowed into the garden from the party, and the scent of roses filled the air. If Hermione closed her eyes and let her mind drift away, the whole scene calmed her in the most fantastic way. She could almost pretend she wasn't at her daughter's wedding.

She felt Draco's hand close around her's, and Hermione smiled again. She gave it a quick squeeze before standing up and pulling him up along with her. 

“Let's go,” Hermione said, Vanishing her spent cigarette. “I've got a son-in-law to dance with.”

“Just so long as you save one for me,” he said, his smile not masking the regret and longing in his eyes. 

Hermione smiled sadly, and gave him a slow kiss on the cheek. 

“Of course,” she whispered. “We still meeting on Wednesday for lunch?”

"Unless you think you can rewrite those laws yourself," Draco said, teasingly, as he led her back to the party, their hands still intertwined.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Ending... of a sort... because I could never figure out how I wanted it to end. Even rereading this to post it here on AO3, I know I interpreted this in a new way that I hadn't before, or when I wrote it. 
> 
> Looking forward to hearing what you all think!


End file.
